The Infamous My Immortal - Rewritten!
by TheLabyrinthineBabyLaGrange
Summary: Everyone is (or should be) familiar with My Immortal - the most infamous HP fanfiction ever written. I decided, gee, what would it be like if it were written a little differently - more intelligently, perhaps? Find out now! No meanness meant; I'm paying homage to what is honestly one of my favorite things ever.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1:

 **AN: I'm trying my best, but to be brutally honest, there's not much to work with. Bear with me until I get my sea legs; I'm trying to stick as close to the original as I possibly can, so it's still probably going to be a little rough around the edges no matter what I do. It's probably going to cause physical harm to any grammar Nazis and English majors reading. You have been forewarned.**

 **I do not own any of the situations or characters that follow. All OC's and story plot are the property of Tara Gilesbie. All other characters are property of J.K. Rowling. This is not intended to be mean, but to pay tribute to a story that is always able to lighten my spirits on even the roughest of days. Tara, wherever you are, we thank you.**

Original AN by Tara Gilesbie: Special fangz (get it, coz Im goffik) 2 my gf (ew not in that way) raven, bloodytearz666 4 helpin me wif da story and spelling. U rok! Justin ur da luv of my deprzzing life u rok 2! MCR ROX!

When I was young, I used to see other little girls inspecting their reflections in the mirror - playing dress-up, wiping makeup off their faces before their mothers could scold them, or taunting whatever pretend ghosties were living behind the glass - which is why I had always avoided the girls' lavatory. Not because I thought their games were stupid or because I feared the wrath of my own mother; no, not even because I was afraid of the ghouls that haunted slumber parties the world over. I will admit that once, a girl had screamed, and another time, a girl had pushed me in front of a mirror, laughing at the reflection, or rather the lack thereof.

I suppose it is therefore advantageous to inform you all that I am, in fact, a vampire, and as such, I could not be reasonably expected to have reflection. However, we are not all as we have been portrayed throughout history; my teeth are straight and white, and although I am already imbued with the magic associated with my species, I am also a witch; perhaps this magical blood is why so many of us seem to be witches and wizards – perhaps it makes us all the more susceptible to wizardry.

My name is Ebony – Ebony Dark'ness Dementia Raven Way. One could say that I was thus christened because of my hair color, although the dark strands at the time of this story contained more violet and red hues than their previous jet black. This dark hair coupled with my icy blue eyes meant that I bore a striking resemblance to Amy Lee (Original AN: if u don't know who she is get da hell out of here!), and my last name meant that many people were frequently put under the impression that I was related to Gerard Way, neither of which is true. I do, however, wish that the latter were fact; in a perverse reality, Gerard Way and I would have had a beautiful, albeit complicated, incestuous relationship.

I currently attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, where I am a seventh-year Slytherin. Unlike most students, aside from a select few in my house, I am what would be considered by conformist society to be a goth. As such, most of my wardrobe is procured via Hot Topic, including today's outfit: a smart, black corset with a matching leather skirt, tastefully accessorized with pink fishnets for a pop of color, and black combat boots.

Earlier today, as I took a morning stroll through the grounds as I do every cold, rainy morning, braving the many disapproving stares of the Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, and Ravenclaws (whom we had not-so-affectionately dubbed "preps"), I ran into none other than Draco Malfoy.

"Hey, Ebony!" he shouted.

"What's up Draco?" I implored playfully, happy at last to have found a kindred soul. He had just opened his mouth to reply when I heard my name called from the front gate of the castle; I excused myself and headed inside to attend my daily classes, crestfallen, at least slightly, that I had his attention for only that fleeting moment.

Original AN: IS it good? PLZ tell me fangz!

 **AN: But really, though, I couldn't have said it better myself; should I continue, or is this a waste of time? Let me know what you think of it so far! I know it's pretty rough, but there's only so much I can do. I feel like the later chapters will be a little better.**


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

 **AN: I was very excited by the good response from the first chapter, so here we go again! Thanks to xXMidnightEssenceXx whose reupload of the original story is serving as the basis for this one.**

Again, I do not own ANYTHING in this story except the rewritten content itself. Plot and OC's are property of Tara Gilesbie, and any other characters or references are property of J.K. Rowling.

Original AN by Tara Gilesbie: Fangz 2 bloodytearz666 for helpin me wif da chapta! BTW prepz stop flaming ma story ok!

I woke the next day, or what I assumed was the next day, at the sound of hurried dressing by my fellow dorm-mates. I was still cushioned in darkness. My affliction demanded the need to have constant restorative access to not one of the customary four-poster beds shared by my peers, but to a large and comfortably plush coffin. I was, as always, starkly _abnormal_ – in my needs, wants, and wishes. The stereotypicality of the situation struck me, and I grimaced; even as much as I was different, I was yet so much the same that it preyed on my mind in situations like this. I was all disgust.

I begrudgingly opened the lid of my resting place as the last of the footsteps died away and the door squeaked shut. There was again the odd mixture of snow and rain pelting the windows outside, white sky melding seamlessly with the white ground. We were all living – although for me, I suppose it was something akin to _un_ -living - on a sheet of blank parchment. I smiled. The pale light from the window to my right struck the violently pink velvet cushions inside my tomb and bathed the polished ebony in a dusty glow. I poured a glass of what to anyone else would appear on all accounts to be wine from the decanter at my coffin-side and drained it in two large gulps, catching a drop as it pelted toward the lace trim of my bedding and licking it from my finger. Sighing, I forced myself up and out in one swift motion. I landed without a thud, my bare feet lightly padding on the stone floor as I disentangled myself from my oversized My Chemical Romance t-shirt. My closet yielded promising results in this post-Christmas season. I chose a black dress of imitation leather and fishnet tights. With my customary Docs on my feet, I bejeweled myself – pentagram necklace and earrings enough to fill my auricle to sagging. The time was beginning to betray me as I piled my hair in a messy bun.

I jolted at the sound I recognized as a creaking coffin lid behind me. Sure enough, the rosewood tomb next to mine was slowly raising its lid, its occupant rising theatrically, stiff as a board and grinning. Willow had risen (Original AN: Raven dis is u!). We had bonded over our shared _uniqueness_ from the time we were "ickle firsties." She was a best friend of mine. She whipped her Pentacostalic black-and-pink mane out of her face and flashed her forest green eyes, shielding them from the glare of the dingy light bouncing off of the whiteness outside. She dressed as quickly as she talked:

"I saw you talking to Malfoy yesterday!" she exclaimed.

 _Good morning to you, too_. "Yeah, so?" I felt heat rise into my cheeks – not such an easy feat, but he was a sensitive subject. I tried to cover it with white foundation, praying it wouldn't look as caked-on as it felt. At that moment, I felt that looking into the Mirror of Erised would show me nothing more than my own reflection – my deepest desire in times like these.

She saw my face betray me and gave me a smirk as we both applied our black lipstick.

"Do you like him?" she teased a minute later as we wandered toward the Great Hall.

I was done with this conversation. "No, I _so_ fucking don't!"

She left it with a look that said, "Yeah, right." I was beginning to feel irritated. So what if I did like him? It wasn't anything to torment me about. Besides, I didn't – not really. He was handsome, to be sure; his physical nature definitely solidified him as strictly my type. If I was being honest, so did his personality: He was delightfully snarky and did not want for anything to lament over. Yes, one could call him prone to depression, but those were the best kind; they were the sensitive kind – the kind to bring flowers and hold hands. And on top of it all, his wardrobe was always _en pointe_. Anyone as impeccably dressed as him had to have impeccable taste in music as well. _Maybe I could like him…_

I was startled from my reverie by the man himself and felt Willow nudge me as she walked away to find a seat at the Slytherin table. "Hi," he said. He seemed awkward; it was adorable. "Hi," I replied. I could feel the color in my face again, unsure it had ever gone in the first place. He was avoiding eye contact as best he could. I watched his eyes dart this way and that as he thought of the best way to approach whatever angle he was aiming at. He cleared his throat and said something I didn't hear. My mind went dumb. _Oh my God, his eyes are the same color as outside_. He cocked his head and brought himself to my level. "Hngh?!" I grunted in surprise.

"I said, guess what?" His mouth curved into a half smile, relieving me of a good deal of the trepidation that had balled itself up in the pit of my stomach. "What's that?" I asked, maybe a little too brightly. _Dammit, Ebony_ , _get it together_. He seemed not to have noticed, or was at least ignoring my uncharacteristically bubbly attitude. "Good Charlotte are having a concert in Hogsmeade," he told me. My mind crashed in around itself; every fiber of my being hummed its approval. The synapses in my brain had to fight to connect themselves at such dumbfounding news. _Good Charlotte? Here? Not twenty minutes away?!_ "Oh. My. Fucking. God…" was all I could conjure. He laughed, now clearly more at ease. Profanity was always the surest way to pack away the trepidation of those around me; it's a public service, really. His eyes lit up at my excitement as he asked, "Would you like to go with me?" I was struck dumb. Thankfully, he took my gasp as an affirmation and our date was set.

 _Our date!_

 **AN: Thank you so much for reading! Let me know once again, if you want me to continue! This is the first story I've ever uploaded here, so I'm a little nervous about its reception.**


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: Sorry to have taken so long with this one! My boyfriend helped me write this chapter after I told him what I was doing. We both love the original so much; he couldn't resist, and we had a wonderful time – and a couple smooches – while writing it.**

 **Again, nothing belongs to me except this re-write. All characters and situations belong to Tara Gilesbie and J.K. Rowling respectively.**

Original AN by Tara Gilesbie: STOP FLAMMING DA STORY PREPZ OK! odderwise fangs 2 da goffik ppl 4 da good reviews! FANGS AGEN RAVEN! oh yeah, BTW I don't own dis or da lyrics 4 Good Chralotte.

My eyes snapped open as I heard the sound of my fellow classmates readying themselves for bed. My pre-date jitters had made it nearly impossible for me to fall asleep and it seemed as though I had only just closed my eyes when I was forced awake again. Not that it mattered – I felt the fruits of my effort strongly enough to wake without a fight; the fallen dusk had refreshed my senses. I waited, unblinking, for the deep breathing of those around me to signal that it was safe for me to rise without notice. Strictly speaking, students were not allowed out of the castle at the hour I intended to make my escape. As I lay in the darkness staring at the lid of my coffin, I felt my anxiety begin to take its toll. _Of course…_

I grimaced and closed my eyes with a sigh. Depression washed over me like a cold wave of acetone and I swallowed it down. It tasted sharp and metallic. Distraction was my only hope. I rose and dressed without alerting even Willow's sharp ears, her deep breaths mingling with those of the snoring students around us. Of course I could only guess at the picture I must have made in my ripped red fishnets and pleather minidress. My emotional frustration was taken out on my hair as I ironed it to a crisp, a halo of general disarray about my head. I saw a face in the mirror – the face of the clock; I was extremely early.

My only hope was proving to be my only undoing as I contemplated the futility of my beautifying. _He isn't going to care. What difference will this make, anyway? How is tonight going to add to any quality of life I may or may not have in the future – or right now for that matter? A silly concert… A stupid thing to get excited about… Tomorrow will still just be tomorrow either way…_

And then the razor was in my hand. It was without conscious thought, really. My disassociation with the present was too great to warrant intervention even in my own actions:

I saw a white hand pull up the red, netted sleeve covering a white arm. It pressed the cool blade against the wrist and lingered, coagulated blood – dead blood – oozing and bubbling to the surface. _Distraction_.

I forced my conscious self through the keyhole at the back of my mind and back into the present as I collected my Mp3 player. I shut the bathroom door and _tick_ -ed through the artists, landing on Good Charlotte. _Decompression_.

I ached for passive stimulation and found it in the book shelf. _Labyrinth? Works for me_. I sat on the toilet to read paragraphs between applying eyeliner and lipstick.

And then I was late. I looked up just in time to see that the death of my emotional batteries had caused me to dawdle thirty minutes past the time I had agreed to meet Draco. I swore and grabbed my boots in my exodus from the bathroom, taking a swig from my coffinside decanter as I laced my shoes and tottered away as silently as I could.

Draco was leaned against a black mass that I soon decided was a car – a Mercedes Benz. A breach of concert etiquette, he wore a t-shirt bearing the logo of the opening band, Simple Plan. No matter; we had more than likely missed them, thanks to me. My eyes darted over his slim frame, evident, even accentuated, by a pair of black jeans large enough to make a JNCO purist salivate. He ran a hand through his hair, black nails through candy floss. Our eyes met, and I forced a grin. _Guyliner_ (AN: A lot fo kewl boiz wer it ok!). Although my heart had been still for some time, I found myself chanting the age-old mantra to myself in a bid to steel my nerves. I took a breath.

"Hi, Draco." It was almost a whisper, barely more. Dull, depressed; I expected anger.

He smiled – beamed, even. It would have been devilish were it not for his charming awkwardness. I swallowed hard and resisted the urge to bite my lip when he spoke.

"Hi, Ebony."

He ushered me into the passenger seat without another word. I noted the 666 on the license plate as he led me around the car and smiled again – genuinely. He was, in all that he did, a testament to the good breeding that only prominent social standing can offer: from holding the door to offering me not only a fresh blunt, but lighting it as well. I was smitten. Good Charlotte and Marilyn Manson eked from the open windows as we lurched upward. Our less-than-graceful takeoff did nothing to hinder my growing excitement as anxiety gave way to anticipation. I came to realize my own luck. Felix Felicis itself could not have thrown a better night in my path, for tonight would be my first ever concert with _Draco Malfoy_. My head swum.

* * *

Touchdown was much more gentle than I had expected, bracing myself against the dash for the bump that never came. I pretended to have been leaning forward in an effort to tie my boot. _Embarrassment avoided_. I glanced to my right, and was met with silvery eyes and blushing cheeks; Draco was smiling at me. I grinned and diverted the attention by bolting out of the car. There was only one thing on my mind from the time my feet touched solid ground and that was to muscle my way to the front of the stage by whatever means necessary. We were greeted, however, by a club filled only just to capacity. I frowned, having been prepared to demonstrate my prowess as a steamroller. No matter; I could see, just beyond the crowd, Joel Madden hunched like a bird of prey over the microphone – perfection incarnate. I grabbed the crook of Draco's elbow, and we made our way to the mosh pit without so much as an "excuse us" and joined the few who, like us, found their experience heightened by having the proverbial shit kicked out of them.

Joel's voice cut through it all:

 _You come in cold, you're covered in blood_

 _They're all so happy you've arrived_

 _The doctor cuts your cord, hands you to your mom_

 _She sets you free into this life_ (AN: I don't own da lyrics 2 dat song)

My moshing had become sub-par as I found myself entranced. Without thinking, I felt my mouth curve over the words I didn't hear myself speak: "Joel is so fucking hot."

In my periphery, I saw Draco's shoulders slump as he doled out a half-hearted shove to his neighbor. I hadn't realized I had spoken loud enough to be audible over the roar of the amplifiers. I snapped my head in his direction, concerned and mortified. His eyes raised carefully to meet mine, and suddenly it was him in need of comforting. _Dammit, Ebony. Every time._ I smiled as warmly as I could manage while we both were still jumping in a semblance of rhythm. "What's wrong? I don't like him better than _you_!" I called over the crunch of guitars. His smile could have replaced the spotlights as he put his arm around me.

"Really?"

"Really," I affirmed, "Besides, how could I? I don't even know him, and he's going out with Hillary-fucking-Duff." _Bitch_ , I added to myself, a malicious snarl crossing my lips. How could a bubbly Mary-Sue like _that_ command the affection of Joel Madden – a rock _god_. Were I not a student of the arcane myself, I would have sworn it was witchcraft. _But she could never be that talented_. I smirked. _No, Miss Perfect isn't so special after all_. I looked up at Draco, and he smiled at me as though he could read my thoughts. I swore we would have kissed if not for the imminent danger of knocking craniums, but stopping mid-mosh was out of the question, so I satisfied myself with imagining the fireworks I was sure to experience upon our eventual first kiss. My night was much better after that particular train of thought, especially after pilfering of a few mugs of pilsner and managing to get autographed photos with Benji and Joel himself.

Our night ended with Draco and I each supporting the other's wobbly footsteps, and laughing as we collapsed back into the Mercedes. Our ascent was much smoother this time, or perhaps we were both too sedate – either from the beer or simply each other's company - to notice otherwise. We were soon invisible against the night sky once again. I rested my elbow on the center console and watched the wide expanse of velvet in varying degrees of blackness stretch below us. I felt a warm hand on mine and smiled as we headed not toward the castle, but toward the Forbidden Forest.

 **AN: So, let me know something before I leave you to write the next installment – the next chapter is on the more mature side (technically speaking, anyway) as far as content goes. Should I keep the T-rating or change it to M for the subsequent chapters? I can be as fluffy as a lemon meringue or gloss over it all entirely if the idea of reading smutty Ebony/Draco stuff completely grosses you all out. Let me know, please! I'm doing this for the amusement of everyone who loves the original, so I have to know what you want in order to give it to you.**

 **Thankies,**

 **Cameron**


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